Daniel went through the corvette’s entryway at a brisk walk instead of the dead run that instinct urged him to. He didn’t want to waste time, but in fact a few minutes here or there wouldn’t make any difference. A hasty error would mean disaster—and if he spooked his crew into such an error, it could be just as bad as his own blunder.
“Thank you, Mon,” Daniel said as he banged up the righthand—upward—companionway, taking the steps two at a time. That was normal practice, and a rigger’s reflex kept his left hand gliding over the railing the whole time to catch him if he slipped. “Watch-standing officers report to the bridge and I’ll brief you on our course. Out.”
The ship’s machinery was live, a symphony of whirrs, whines, and the occasional flurry of clanking like a drum riff. Spacers waited at their action stations. The bow dorsal section of riggers, both watches, stood suited in the corridor. They flattened themselves against either bulkhead as Daniel passed, nodding with a stern smile.
He threw himself into his seat and rotated the command console to face his officers. A year ago Daniel would’ve radioed his plans ahead to the Princess Cecile, trusting RCN encryption to limit his message to its intended hearers if he even bothered to think about security. A few months of contact with Adele Mundy had showed him that an information specialist with a powerful computer at her command could read anything she got in electronic form.
There might be eavesdropping devices on the Princess Cecile’s bridge—and unlikely though that was, it was greater than the chance of there being another specialist of Adele’s skill on Sexburga. Even so, Daniel had ceased to say anything over the air that he didn’t want others to hear.
Mon and Pasternak—with a long cut on his forearm, covered with a sprayed binder/antiseptic; the Chief Engineer didn’t limit his duties to giving orders—came down the corridor behind Daniel. The other warrant officers (including Taley, who wasn’t a watchstander but was understandably curious about what was going on) were already on the bridge.
Daniel beamed. He had a great crew, a crew that other captains would give an arm for, and they’d every one of them volunteered to serve with Lt. Daniel Leary. By God! they had.
“As everybody in this compartment knows,” Daniel said, starting without preamble because he’d sound weak if he tried to articulate what he felt about the spacers he commanded, “we could better Commodore Pettin’s time to Strymon with the crew on half watches and me sleeping for the whole run.”
There was a general chorus of nods and murmurs. Woetjans slapped the bulkhead with her right hand and said, “Damned straight we will! They could sail the Winckelmann’s masts out and we’d still be waiting for ’em laughing when they finally staggered in.”
Adele alone sat with the neutral expression Daniel knew by now was what her face wore when she was trying not to sneer. He was quite sure that Adele would make her opinion known if Daniel said he intended to humiliate his commanding officer in the most public fashion possible; but she wouldn’t go out of her way to insult fellow officers simply because their understanding differed from that of noblemen like herself and Daniel—and senior officers like Commodore Pettin.
“We’re going to do something much harder instead,” Daniel said. “I’m counting on your skill and professionalism and that of the spacers under you to make it possible.”
Faces grew shuttered; curious and, if not exactly concerned, then . . . Well, the crew of the Princess Cecile knew by now that if their captain said something would be difficult, they’d be sweating like pigs before they were through it.
“We’re going to rendezvous with the squadron en route instead of meeting it at its destination,” Daniel said. He thought about the ways his plan could go wrong and smiled. He’d worn a similar expression the day he made an offer to three women; and they whispered together, giggled, and all three followed him down the corridor.
It could go wrong, but it wouldn’t. Not with this crew to back him and recover from any miscalculations he made.